


let's go, don't wait

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: First Date, Fluffy, Get together fic, Humor, LGBTQIA Headcanons, M/M, pride fic, queer headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 17:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11605506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Of all the gin joints, in all the world.No, that's not right.Of all the pride parades, in all the world.Well, that's just silly.Accurate, though.





	let's go, don't wait

**Author's Note:**

> i started this ages ago and found the wip hanging out in my folder; inspiration struck and i managed to finish this one up! hope you like it, just a fun little fic to pass the time!

It was bound to happen eventually.

 

At least, that’s what Sonny thinks.

Honestly—there are only so many pride parades where they live. The odds of them _not_ running into each other is just ridiculous. How they’ve managed it for the past couple years is outright astronomical, if you ask Sonny.

Which, no one did. But his opinion still counts for something.

 

 

“You’re staring, detective.”

Sonny blinks and suddenly all the words filling up his head (namely how he was going to retell this story sometime) vanish in a wisp. He finally closes his mouth and ultimately shrugs.

“Eloquent,” Barba sniffs, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “Well. What are the odds? Of all the gin joints, I suppose?”

“Nice shirt.” Sonny barely remembers to _look_ at the shirt before he says it.

Barba looks down as though he’s forgotten he’s wearing it. It’s a soft and well-worn charcoal gray. Proudly, it reads _‘let me be perfectly queer’_ in blocky white print. When Barba looks up again, he’s grinning.

“Same could be said for you. Seems weekend wear is your specialty.”

Sonny reflexively looks down at his own pink-purple-blue tie-dye tank top and the messy scrawl he wrote himself: _‘TWO PAIRS BEAT A STRAIGHT.’_ He wants to ask if that was a compliment; if it was a round-about way of admitting to checking Sonny out… In the end he can’t find the words.

Ever verbose, Barba speaks instead.

“Are you here with anyone?”

It’s casual and innocuous on the surface, but Sonny is pretty sure his blood pressure just spiked.

“Me? Uh, I mean, my sister is here somewhere. She’s trans, ya know, so we always go together. I think… I honestly have no idea where she went.” Sonny shoves his hands in his jean pockets. “You, counselor?”

Barba seems surprised to have the question volleyed back at him. “No, no.” He doesn’t elaborate, and Sonny doesn’t press. Barba carries on. “If you’ve got nowhere to be, perhaps we could grab a drink.”

As if timed, the sun overhead shines especially bright and they glint off the sunglasses propped on Barba’s head. It’s a brief and glaring reminder of the time: barely past one o’clock. Hardly over halfway through the day.

The grin Barba meets his gaze with just dares him to comment. So Sonny avoids the bait. Instead, he agrees.

“Sounds good. S’long as you’re buying.”

This time it’s Barba who seems surprised, but his expression schools easily. “Fair enough.” Just like that, he turns on his heel and gestures for Sonny to follow. The move is so practiced, so effortless that it nearly seems like an afterthought. Like he couldn’t care less if Sonny tagged along or not. There’s a hitch in his step though and the subtlest jerk of his head; he _wants_ Sonny to follow.

That’s enough to get Sonny’s feet moving.

 

 

They wind up crammed into a miniscule corner pub, where all the seats are taken but it barely takes a minute to get a drink in hand. Sonny goes for a breezy gin and tonic, extra lime, and tries to reign in his shock when Barba orders a mai tai.

As if sensing the disbelief, Barba’s voice cuts through the hustle and bustle of the other patrons. “I’m typically a scotch man, myself, but something about pride just… a mai tai seems more fitting.” The grin he flashes Sonny could be construed as downright flirtatious, were Sonny a more hopeful man.

 

Oh, who is he kidding. He’s the most hopeful ( _hopeless_ ) guy on the planet. And Barba knows that full well.

“I-I’ll drink just about anything, I guess.”

Barba smirks around the rim of his drink. “I’m stunned,” he teases.

Sonny could let the moment pass. Barba is a classy guy, they’d both walk away from the unspoken proposition laughing, Sonny is sure. He could quietly suck down his gin and tonic and he could look away and—

“Does this count as a date?”

Barba laughs so hard he takes a moment to lean on the table they’re herded around. “Good god, Carisi, are you twelve?” He doesn’t wait for a response; no, Barba takes the conversation by the horns and steers it however he pleases. “You know, detective.” He stops. Takes a sip. “You know, Sonny,” he starts again, “I never knew quite what to make of you.”

Sonny makes a curious sound; word are failing him yet again.

“I was never sure what it was: admiration, adoration, simple ass-kissing.” Barba tilts his head back and forth like he’s counting the ideas off in his head. “Or, maybe a bit of all three, with a bit of hapless pining thrown in for fun.” Barba’s drink is empty but he’s stirring the ice around and everything about him is hypnotizing.

“Uh,” Sonny starts. He realizes he’s officially a drink behind and starts sipping at his drink like a lifeline.

Barba isn’t offended. If anything, he seems spurred on by Sonny’s reaction. “Part of the conundrum was, well, this.” He gestures to their shirts. “Most of the time, I figured you were straight with a bad case of hero worship. But sometimes…”

Sonny almost blurts out _“I’m bi”_ like he isn’t wearing the proof on his chest.

Barba seems to hear it anyway. He grins. “Sometimes you’d have this look in your eye, a look that speaks _volumes_ for what you’d like to do to me.” Another drink replaces Barba’s empty one, and Sonny isn’t totally sure how the older man managed that without at least gesturing to the bartender. Barba toys with the straw after a short sip.

Sonny keeps sucking on his even after it’s nothing but air rattling against ice.

“Then, of course, those times I had to wonder if you were just _curious_. I’ve seen it plenty. I saw it all the time in college, in particular. I did a lot of wondering, you know.”

“What you’re saying is you’ve thought about me, a lot.” Sonny speaks with a wide grin.

Barba matches him, though more reserved. “I suppose so.”

They lapse into silence, and when the bartender swings by Sonny orders a Malibu and pineapple, to keep the light-and-refreshing feel alive and well. He finishes that off at the same time Barba finishes his second mai tai, and there’s a healthy flush to both their cheeks.

“So…” Sonny trails off as their third round of drinks arrive (meaning, a couple shots of vodka each, because who needs to be responsible at two-thirty in the afternoon). He knocks back one shot for some extra courage before talking. “This is a date?”

Barba throws his own shot back too, but looks significantly less juvenile in doing so. The smirk he bears after doesn’t help matters. “Yes, Sonny, this can be a date.” He picks up a second shot and holds it out expectantly.

Sonny picks up one for himself and they clink the tiny glasses together carefully. “Cheers, then.”

Barba raises his eyebrows in some form of agreement and in unison they tip their heads back and let the liquor slide down their throats. “Not exactly how I envisioned our first date.”

Sonny chokes on the burn still lingering in his throat. “You’ve—you’ve thought about that before?”

Fondly exasperated, Barba sighs. “Did we not just establish that I’ve dedicated a _perhaps_ unreasonable amount of time to thinking about you?”

Sonny’s face beams from a brutal combination of alcohol and delighted embarrassment. “Well, yeah. But I thought you meant in, like. A passive way.”

Maybe it’s the way the sun shifts outside or maybe it’s all in Sonny’s head, but he could swear a spark lights in Barba’s eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago. Something dark and heady and inviting. “Far from passive, I assure you.”

Again, Barba raises the third and final shot for another toast with Sonny, who complies eagerly. Once the glasses are cleared and Barba has tossed a couple bills on the table, he takes Sonny by the upper arm.

“Uh, counselor?”

“Okay, first. If this is really a date you have _got_ to call me something other than counselor. Rafael, Barba, whatever. Just not counselor. Got it?” Once they’re outside amidst the crowd again, Barba rounds on Sonny as though checking for understanding.

His head is fuzzy and he’s a little drunk but Sonny still has the wherewithal to nod. “Got it.” He even flashes a crooked thumbs up which just makes Barba shake his head.

“Second, no date is _just_ alcohol, not even the best ones. Let’s find some food.” In contrast to his hurried and stern words, Barba’s hand slides from Sonny’s biceps down his arm. His fingertips trail over Sonny’s elbow and forearm, stopping briefly at his wrist. There he hesitates; they’re barely touching.

Sonny takes the leap and twines their fingers together. “Food sounds good. I don’t actually remember the last time I ate, so, uh.”

“Little drunk?” Barba teases.

“Little bit,” Sonny agrees with a nod.

They start to walk and Sonny can’t get his mind off their hands: linked, swinging ever so slightly between them. It just feels right… Not only because Sonny has been daydreaming about this moment for a couple years now, but because it just _does_. It feels _right_ to be at pride with someone, holding hands in broad daylight, with no fear or panic niggling at the back of his mind. Their steps are easy-going and the line of Barba’s shoulders is relaxed. There’s no tension here, for once. Even the snarky tidbits they keep firing off at each other are softer than usual.

“You’re thinking an awful lot for someone who’s drunk.”

“I can think and be drunk at the same time, thanks very much.”

Barba smiles at him, then tugs at his hand sharply. “This way,” he urges without much urgency as he leads them down a side alley. “There’s a restaurant I want you to try.”

“Do they have cocktails?” Sonny finds himself asking, mostly just to see the exasperated smile grace Barba’s face again.

“Yes, you lush, now come on.”

It’s a literal hole in the wall; the door is too small for the frame and seems to hang awkwardly off its hinges. Despite the outwardly off-putting appearance, the smells wafting out into the air are enticing, and Sonny can’t help but nod eagerly.

Barba smiles at him again—

Barba never smiles this much, it’s either the alcohol or the fact this is a date. Probably both. Definitely both.

—Barba smiles at him and tugs him inside. He greets the man behind the bar with a swift familiarity and guides Sonny to a back-corner table, tucked away from the decent crowd already gathered inside.

“This is nice,” Sonny says. It’s cooler inside than he expected, still full of delicious smells, and there’s a certain friendliness in the air that seems more intoxicating than the drinks from earlier.

Barba nods. “It’s a good place. Old family friend runs it. I don’t get to come by very often.”

Sonny just stares—at Barba this time, not at anyone else—until he works up the nerve to say what he’s thinking. “Thanks for bringing me.”

Barba seems surprised, but the expression settles quick. Everything about Barba is fast like that, smooth and simple. Not unkind, though. His expression is gentle and he shows the tiniest bit of teeth when he grins this time. Sonny would maybe call it bashful if he didn’t think he’d earn an earful for it.

“You’re welcome, Sonny.”

 

 

The rest of the day passes in a blur of color, good food, and more alcohol. By the time the sun finally starts to set at least a little bit (meaning around seven or so, when the sky is a blend of pinks and oranges) Sonny feels outright exhausted. Bone-deep and bogged down, but in the best kind of way.

Right up until his phone chimes, with his sister’s face lighting up the screen.

He looks over at Barba, who stares back curiously. He’s got a pink straw clenched between his teeth with pina colada in the tall plastic glass. He nods at the phone, as if to say _answer it._

So Sonny does.

“Hey, T, what’s up?” Sonny focuses on making his words as strong and coherent as possible. Judging by the way Barba snickers, he figures he failed.

_“What’s up? What’s up is that I lost track of you six hours ago and you didn’t even bother to tell me you’re hanging out with some cute older guy!”_

On instinct, Sonny looks around. He swings his head from side to side and tries to catch his sister’s face in the crowd. “Where are you…?” He asks slowly when he doesn’t see her right away.

_“Oh, please, like I’d tell you. Not like it matters. You two look cute together.”_

“You’re being creepy, T. We talked about this, remember?” Sonny doesn’t let her answer. “Where are you at, really? You want to head home?”

_“Don’t stop the fun on my account,”_ she chides. _“I’m a big girl, I can find my way home just fine. I wanted to check in and make sure you’re alive, embarrass you a little. Y’know, the usual big sister stuff.”_

Sonny can’t help but revel in the warmth that blooms in his chest. “You had a good time today?”

_“I had a great time. Seems like you did too!”_

Sonny can practically hear the wink in her tone.

_“Text me when you get home, okay? Or wherever you end up tonight.”_

Again, the wink. Unseen but clearly heard, somehow.

“Alright, alright. Get home safe. Love you.”

_“Love you too, Sonny.”_

He tucks his phone back into his pocket and looks over at Barba. Barba who is clearly trying to give him some sense of privacy for the phone call even though they’re pressed tight together on a park bench. “It was my sister, just checking in.”

“Ah,” Barba nods. Silence stretches and Sonny would almost call it awkward, until Barba breaks it. “I had a good time today, Sonny.”

“Me too, Raf, a really good time.” He relaxes as best he can against the stiff bench. “I know you said this wasn’t really how you pictured our first date going, but I gotta say, it was pretty great.”

Barba leans against him. He hums in agreement.

“Maybe we can do it again sometime?” Sonny asks slowly.

“I’m not done with you yet, Carisi. The night is still young.”

Sonny’s blush returns tenfold, and he feels suddenly sobered by the low current of Barba’s words. “Yeah?”

Barba sits up and lays a hand on Sonny’s chest. “Yeah,” he agrees. Then, “my place?”

Sonny leans in then—because it occurs to him that they haven’t actually kissed yet today—and tugs Barba closer.

There had been a million moments where Sonny wanted to, and he’s sure there were a million more where Barba had almost made a move. But no moment had seemed right. Not when they grabbed ice cream an hour or so earlier; not when Barba stared, enraptured, with some of pride floats going by. Not when Barba had looked up at him with almost bashful yet challenging eyes. None of them seemed right…

This, this moment here on the park bench, it _does_.

Sonny kisses Barba with a hand cupping the back of his head. It’s soft and slow, like the rest of the day has been, and just as simple. Barba moans quietly into the kiss and Sonny mirrors the sound. He starts slightly when a hand falls to his thigh, but after a quick squeeze he relaxes again.

It’s not a sloppy or hurried kiss. They take their time and come apart slowly, dazedly.

“Your place,” Sonny agrees in a hoarse voice.

Barba just kisses him again.


End file.
